Reprise, A Christmas Duet
by Rye-bread
Summary: Can a Christmas miracle happen twice?  Can that which was lost be restored?  Can a romance that might have been still come to pass?  The reunion of Ebenezer Scrooge and his lost love.
1. Chapter 1

Can a Christmas miracle happen twice? Can that which was lost be restored? Can a romance that might have been still come to pass?

My man Molloy and I were trading PM's. We were discussing Charles Dickens' story A Christmas Carol and its relation to his Kim Possible fan-story, The End. Our mutual favorite film version is the one starring Alistair Sim. That was the inspiration for this story.

We learn from Dickens' story that Ebenezer Scrooge was betrothed. We learn that his fiancé broke off the engagement after his apprenticeship with Mr. Fezziwig, when his miserliness began to take over his life. We learn that she married and had a daughter; a daughter Scrooge might have been able to call his own.

My question was, could the two lovers be reunited?

There's a precedent in Dickens' story Great Expectations. Or almost. Estelle and Pip meet after many years and at last have a reconciliation of sorts. How did that happen? Ah, that's another story. Consult Wikipedia, Sparknotes, etc. The Project Gutenberg website contains the Charles Dickens stories. There're even audio books all over the web.

I had to have names for the characters. The story mentions Mrs. and Bob Cratchit, and their children. In chronological order, oldest first, there is Martha, apprenticed at a milliners, Belinda, Peter, also apprenticed, little Bob, not named until the visit of the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come in chpt. 4, or "Stave IV", an unnamed daughter, and Tiny Tim. I borrowed Mrs. Dickens' name for Mrs. Cratchit and the name of Dickens' youngest son and daughter for the unnamed Cratchit children. So we have Kate and Bob Cratchit, and their children; Martha, Belinda, Peter, Dora, Edward, and Tim.

For the rest, I pondered over suitable names. English are stiff upper lip. Victorian English are about propriety. So we have Belle Gray. Like the tea? Earl Gray? I suppose. We have her husband Harold Clairton. And her daughter Isabel. And Isabel's husband Thomas Bentley. And their children Albert and Grace. All the essence of propriety. All "teddibly English sounding," as a dearly departed friend used to say, whose mother drove a delivery truck around London during the Blitz. But that too is another story.

I decided to make Mr. Clairton a landed gentlemen, for irony's sake…but I hope y'all will get it.

For Scrooge's nephew Fred, the only child of his sister Frances; or Fanny; or, as the story calls her, Fan: I chose the name Fred Bozwell, after Dickens' penname "Boz", and the English author James Boswell. For Fred's wife, I chose the name Constance. For Constance's "plump" sister, who was the object of Fred's bachelor friend Topper's romantic pursuits at Fred's Christmas dinner, I chose the name Caroline.

And the two "portly gentlemen" who solicited a charitable contribution from Scrooge on the Christmas Eve before the Spirits came. A pair of names. Nestle and Hershey? Amos and Andy? Smith and Wesson? Proctor and Gamble? Lewis and Clark? Stanley and Livingston? Able and Baker?

Nope. Bonnie and Clyde? Jack and Jill? Astaire and Rogers? Crosby and Hope? Lucy and Ethel? Regular and Leadfree? Paper and Plastic? The Captain and Tennille? Caesar and Cleopatra? Salt and Peppa? Lock and Load? Rice 'n' Roni? Alice and Wonderland? Come and Get it? Now I'm just getting silly.

I thought; a pair of guys who looked Victorian; or at least Edwardian. And it hit me. The two old bearded guys on the cough drop box. A classic American brand name, just like Harley-Davidson (hey! I coulda used that!)

But I digress. The Smith Brothers. Their pictures on the label. And the word "trademark" is under their pictures. Or the words "trade" and "mark". People thought their names were Trade and Mark. So there we are. Two London businessmen of 1840's London. Messr's William Trade and Andrew Mark. The first names are their real first names.

The question of Scrooge's occupation occurred to me. Some movie versions portray him as a moneylender. The story seems to indicate he and Marley were merchants. What commodity? Doesn't say. I wondered if I could describe him as a part-time moneylender

According to The law of money-lending, past and present: being a short history of the ... By Joseph Bridges Matthews, Great Britain at Google Books, the laws regulating moneylending in Great Britain were quite strict; not in the interest of the debtor, I'm sure. So I set that aside.

The question of a proper mourning period after the death of a family member enters into my story. According to Victorian Mourning Garb by Kyshah Hell at morbidoutlook-dot-com, the proper period was no less than two years. According to, Wikipedia, the period was no less than four years. Victorians were big on mourning. Queen Victoria herself, who reigned from 1837 to 1901 lost her husband Prince Albert to typhoid fever in 1861. She observed mourning for the rest of her life, dressed in black and rarely leaving Windsor Palace.

Women bore the brunt of it. They wore the heave black garments called widow's weeds and a black veil. This was the full mourning wardrobe. They didn't leave the house for a year Then they worked back into society gradually. They began by attending church functions. The half mourning wardrobe was lavender or grey. For the men, it differed. A black armband sufficed.

The upper classes could afford the wardrobe. There's one mention of the entire servant staff of the household wearing black. The poorer had to do stuff like dye their garments and then bleach out the dye. The garment makers spread the propaganda that it was bad luck to recycle garments. A new set of attire was needed for each death: parents, spouse, children, etc.

So I felt like I had to include a mourning period. A proper gal like Belle couldn't do less.

And I figured the longer mourning period became fashionable in 1861, after the death of Prince Albert. Why a mourning period at all? You'll see.

The Minister's prayers in the story are taken from the Anglican Book of Common Prayer, Ministration at the Time of Death. Even that's online, at bcponline-dot-org.

I set the date based on the publishing date of the story; 1843.

Leave it to me to get involved in questions like how long the workdays and workweeks in 1843. To Google and Wikipedia we went. The long and short of it…well, just the short. The eight hour workday began to be lobbied for in the early nineteenth century by British and Australian social and labor movements. Professionals might work ten hours a day. Factory workers might work fourteen hours a day. It was the early twentieth century before the eight hour workday became a reality. The concept of a two day weekend was a little harder to pin down. Life In The 19th Century by Tim Lambert at local histories-dot-org says that, indeed, people did work on Saturday. It was the 1870's before some skilled workers had Saturday afternoons off.

Yeah. I did a heap of research for this story. Why? 'Cause it's me; it's how I am. And like all of us fan-writers, not a brass farthing, ruble, ducat, peso, shekel, rupee, red cent, or wampum, did I make out of the deal.

As is my habit, when doing fanstories not based on current or recent shows, I include segments of the original story. The part where the two gentlemen ask Scrooge to contribute to the poor and his cold refusal. The Ghost of Christmas Past shows Scrooge the awful heart wrenching end of his engagement to Belle. And the delightful final scene where Scrooge increases Bob Cratchit's wage.

These set the stage for the action in the first chpt. You don't have to read them, but I think they explain a lot. It you do read them, take your time and read carefully. The archaic style Victorian English takes a little effort to get through.

In fact, read the whole novella. And see any one of the movie versions. Reginald Owen. Alistair Sim. Mr. Magoo. Albert Finney (the 1st motion picture musical version, as far as I can tell). Disney's Scrooge MacDuck. The Muppets. George C. Scott. Patrick Stewart. Jim Carry. Even Bill Murray's Scrooged. (That should about cover it.) You might think you know it, but trust me, there are always a few details that jump out at you.

"_I will honour Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year. I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future. The Spirits of all Three shall strive within me. I will not shut out the lessons that they teach." _

My brothers and sisters in the Body of Christ and the Family of Man: a merrier Christmas than you've had in many a year.

From Charles Dickens' _**A CHRISTMAS CAROL, STAVE I, MARLEY'S GHOST**__**.**_

_They were portly gentlemen, pleasant to behold, and now stood, with their hats off, in Scrooge's office. They had books and papers in their hands, and bowed to him. _

"_Scrooge and Marley's, I believe," said one of the gentlemen, referring to his list. "Have I the pleasure of addressing Mr. Scrooge, or Mr. Marley?" _

"_Mr. Marley has been dead these seven years," Scrooge replied. "He died seven years ago, this very night." _

"_We have no doubt his liberality is well represented by his surviving partner," said the gentleman, presenting his credentials. _

_It certainly was; for they had been two kindred spirits. At the ominous word "liberality," Scrooge frowned, and shook his head, and handed the credentials back. _

"_At this festive season of the year, Mr. Scrooge," said the gentleman, taking up a pen, "it is more than usually desirable that we should make some slight provision for the Poor and destitute, who suffer greatly at the present time. Many thousands are in want of common necessaries; hundreds of thousands are in want of common comforts, sir." _

"_Are there no prisons?" asked Scrooge. _

"_Plenty of prisons," said the gentleman, laying down the pen again. _

"_And the Union workhouses?" demanded Scrooge. "Are they still in operation?" _

"_They are. Still," returned the gentleman, "I wish I could say they were not." _

"_The Treadmill and the Poor Law are in full vigour, then?" said Scrooge. _

"_Both very busy, sir." _

"_Oh! I was afraid, from what you said at first, that something had occurred to stop them in their useful course," said Scrooge. "I'm very glad to hear it." _

"_Under the impression that they scarcely furnish Christian cheer of mind or body to the multitude," returned the gentleman, "a few of us are endeavouring to raise a fund to buy the Poor some meat and drink, and means of warmth. We choose this time, because it is a time, of all others, when Want is keenly felt, and Abundance rejoices. What shall I put you down for?" _

"_Nothing!" Scrooge replied. _

"_You wish to be anonymous?" _

"_I wish to be left alone," said Scrooge. "Since you ask me what I wish, gentlemen, that is my answer. I don't make merry myself at Christmas and I can't afford to make idle people merry. I help to support the establishments I have mentioned—they cost enough; and those who are badly off must go there." _

"_Many can't go there; and many would rather die." _

"_If they would rather die," said Scrooge, "they had better do it, and decrease the surplus population. Besides—excuse me—I don't know that." _

"_But you might know it," observed the gentleman. _

"_It's not my business," Scrooge returned. "It's enough for a man to understand his own business, and not to interfere with other people's. Mine occupies me constantly. Good afternoon, gentlemen!" _

_Seeing clearly that it would be useless to pursue their point, the gentlemen withdrew. Scrooge resumed his labours with an improved opinion of himself, and in a more facetious temper than was usual with him. _

From _**STAVE II, THE FIRST OF THE THREE SPIRITS**__**.**_

"_My time grows short," observed the Spirit. "Quick!" _

_This was not addressed to Scrooge, or to any one whom he could see, but it produced an immediate effect. For again Scrooge saw himself. He was older now; a man in the prime of life. His face had not the harsh and rigid lines of later years; but it had begun to wear the signs of care and avarice. There was an eager, greedy, restless motion in the eye, which showed the passion that had taken root, and where the shadow of the growing tree would fall. _

_He was not alone, but sat by the side of a fair young girl in a mourning-dress: in whose eyes there were tears, which sparkled in the light that shone out of the Ghost of Christmas Past. _

"_It matters little," she said, softly. "To you, very little. Another idol has displaced me; and if it can cheer and comfort you in time to come, as I would have tried to do, I have no just cause to grieve." _

"_What Idol has displaced you?" he rejoined. _

"_A golden one." _

"_This is the even-handed dealing of the world!" he said. "There is nothing on which it is so hard as poverty; and there is nothing it professes to condemn with such severity as the _

_pursuit of wealth!" _

"_You fear the world too much," she answered, gently. "All your other hopes have merged into the hope of being beyond the chance of its sordid reproach. I have seen your nobler aspirations fall off one by one, until the master-passion, Gain, engrosses you. Have I not?" _

"_What then?" he retorted. "Even if I have grown so much wiser, what then? I am not changed towards you." _

_She shook her head. _

"_Am I?" _

"_Our contract is an old one. It was made when we were both poor and content to be so, until, in good season, we could improve our worldly fortune by our patient industry. You are changed. When it was made, you were another man." _

"_I was a boy," he said impatiently. _

"_Your own feeling tells you that you were not what you are," she returned. "I am. That which promised happiness when we were one in heart, is fraught with misery now that we are two. How often and how keenly I have thought of this, I will not say. It is enough that I have thought of it, and can release you." _

"_Have I ever sought release?" _

"_In words. No. Never." _

"_In what, then?" _

"_In a changed nature; in an altered spirit; in another atmosphere of life; another Hope as its great end. In everything that made my love of any worth or value in your sight. If this had never been between us," said the girl, looking mildly, but with steadiness, upon him; "tell me, would you seek me out and try to win me now? Ah, no!" _

_He seemed to yield to the justice of this supposition, in spite of himself. But he said with a struggle, "You think not." _

"_I would gladly think otherwise if I could," she answered, "Heaven knows! When I have learned a Truth like this, I know how strong and irresistible it must be. But if you were free to-day, to-morrow, yesterday, can even I believe that you would choose a dowerless girl—you who, in your very confidence with her, weigh everything by Gain: or, choosing her, if for a moment you were false enough to your one guiding principle to do so, do I not know that your repentance and regret would surely follow? I do; and I release you. With a full heart, for the love of him you once were." _

_He was about to speak; but with her head turned from him, she resumed. _

"_You may—the memory of what is past half makes me hope you will—have pain in this. A very, very brief time, and you will dismiss the recollection of it, gladly, as an unprofitable dream, from which it happened well that you awoke. May you be happy in the life you have chosen!" _

_She left him, and they parted. _

"_Spirit!" said Scrooge, "show me no more! Conduct me home. Why do you delight to torture me?" _

"_One shadow more!" exclaimed the Ghost. _

"_No more!" cried Scrooge. "No more. I don't wish to see it. Show me no more!" _

_But the relentless Ghost pinioned him in both his arms, and forced him to observe what happened next. _

_They were in another scene and place; a room, not very large or handsome, but full of comfort. Near to the winter fire sat a beautiful young girl, so like that last that Scrooge believed it was the same, until he saw her, now a comely matron, sitting opposite her daughter. The noise in this room was perfectly tumultuous, for there were more children there, than Scrooge in his agitated state of mind could count; and, unlike the celebrated herd in the poem, they were not forty children conducting themselves like one, but every child was conducting itself like forty. The consequences were uproarious beyond belief; but no one seemed to care; on the contrary, the mother and daughter laughed heartily, and enjoyed it very much; and the latter, soon beginning to mingle in the sports, got pillaged by the young brigands most ruthlessly. What would I not have given to be one of them! Though I never could have been so rude, no, no! I wouldn't for the wealth of all the world have crushed that braided hair, and torn it down; and for the precious little shoe, I wouldn't have plucked it off, God bless my soul! to save my life. As to measuring her waist in sport, as they did, bold young brood, I couldn't have done it; I should have expected my arm to have grown round it for a punishment, and never come straight again. And yet I should have dearly liked, I own, to have touched her lips; to have questioned her, that she might have opened them; to have looked upon the lashes of her downcast eyes, and never raised a blush; to have let loose waves of hair, an inch of which would be a keepsake beyond price: in short, I should have liked, I do confess, to have had the lightest licence of a child, and yet to have been man enough to know its value. _

_But now a knocking at the door was heard, and such a rush immediately ensued that she with laughing face and plundered dress was borne towards it the centre of a flushed and boisterous group, just in time to greet the father, who came home attended by a man laden with Christmas toys and presents. Then the shouting and the struggling, and the onslaught that was made on the defenceless porter! The scaling him with chairs for ladders to dive into his pockets, despoil him of brown-paper parcels, hold on tight by his cravat, hug him round his neck, pommel his back, and kick his legs in irrepressible affection! The shouts of wonder and delight with which the development of every package was received! The terrible announcement that the baby had been taken in the act of putting a doll's frying-pan into his mouth, and was more than suspected of having swallowed a fictitious turkey, glued on a wooden platter! The immense relief of finding this a false alarm! The joy, and gratitude, and ecstasy! They are all indescribable alike. It is enough that by degrees the children and their emotions got out of the parlour, and by one stair at a time, up to the top of the house; where they went to bed, and so subsided. _

_And now Scrooge looked on more attentively than ever, when the master of the house, having his daughter leaning fondly on him, sat down with her and her mother at his own fireside; and when he thought that such another creature, quite as graceful and as full of promise, might have called him father, and been a spring-time in the haggard winter of his life, his sight grew very dim indeed. _

"_Belle," said the husband, turning to his wife with a smile, "I saw an old friend of yours this afternoon." _

"_Who was it?" _

"_Guess!" _

"_How can I? Tut, don't I know?" she added in the same breath, laughing as he laughed. _

"_Mr. Scrooge." _

"_Mr. Scrooge it was. I passed his office window; and as it was not shut up, and he had a candle inside, I could scarcely help seeing him. His partner lies upon the point of death, I hear; and there he sat alone. Quite alone in the world, I do believe." _

"_Spirit!" said Scrooge in a broken voice, "remove me from this place." _

"_I told you these were shadows of the things that have been," said the Ghost. "That they are what they are, do not blame me!" _

"_Remove me!" Scrooge exclaimed, "I cannot bear it!" _

_He turned upon the Ghost, and seeing that it looked upon him with a face, in which in some strange way there were fragments of all the faces it had shown him, wrestled with it. _

"_Leave me! Take me back. Haunt me no longer!" _

From _**STAVE V, THE END OF IT**_

_He had not gone far, when coming on towards him he beheld the portly gentleman, who had walked into his counting-house the day before, and said, "Scrooge and Marley's, I believe?" It sent a pang across his heart to think how this old gentleman would look upon him when they met; but he knew what path lay straight before him, and he took it. _

"_My dear sir," said Scrooge, quickening his pace, and taking the old gentleman by both his hands. "How do you do? I hope you succeeded yesterday. It was very kind of you. A merry Christmas to you, sir!" _

"_Mr. Scrooge?" _

"_Yes," said Scrooge. "That is my name, and I fear it may not be pleasant to you. Allow me to ask your pardon. And will you have the goodness"—here Scrooge whispered in his ear. _

"_Lord bless me!" cried the gentleman, as if his breath were taken away. "My dear Mr. Scrooge, are you serious?" _

"_If you please," said Scrooge. "Not a farthing less. A great many back-payments are included in it, I assure you. Will you do me that favour?" _

"_My dear sir," said the other, shaking hands with him. "I don't know what to say to such munifi—" _

"_Don't say anything, please," retorted Scrooge. "Come and see me. Will you come and see me?" _

"_I will!" cried the old gentleman. And it was clear he meant to do it. _

"_Thank'ee," said Scrooge. "I am much obliged to you. I thank you fifty times. Bless you!" …_

…_But he was early at the office next morning. Oh, he was early there. If he could only be there first, and catch Bob Cratchit coming late! That was the thing he had set his heart upon. _

_And he did it; yes, he did! The clock struck nine. No Bob. A quarter past. No Bob. He was full eighteen minutes and a half behind his time. Scrooge sat with his door wide open, that he might see him come into the Tank. _

_His hat was off, before he opened the door; his comforter too. He was on his stool in a jiffy; driving away with his pen, as if he were trying to overtake nine o'clock. _

"_Hallo!" growled Scrooge, in his accustomed voice, as near as he could feign it. "What do you mean by coming here at this time of day?" _

"_I am very sorry, sir," said Bob. "I __**am**__ behind my time." _

"_You are?" repeated Scrooge. "Yes. I think you are. Step this way, sir, if you please." _

"_It's only once a year, sir," pleaded Bob, appearing from the Tank. "It shall not be repeated. I was making rather merry yesterday, sir." _

"_Now, I'll tell you what, my friend," said Scrooge, "I am not going to stand this sort of thing any longer. And therefore," he continued, leaping from his stool, and giving Bob such a dig in the waistcoat that he staggered back into the Tank again; "and therefore I am about to raise your salary!" _

_Bob trembled, and got a little nearer to the ruler. He had a momentary idea of knocking Scrooge down with it, holding him, and calling to the people in the court for help and a strait-waistcoat. _

"_A merry Christmas, Bob!" said Scrooge, with an earnestness that could not be mistaken, as he clapped him on the back. "A merrier Christmas, Bob, my good fellow, than I have given you for many a year! I'll raise your salary, and endeavour to assist your struggling family, and we will discuss your affairs this very afternoon, over a Christmas bowl of smoking bishop, Bob! Make up the fires, and buy another coal-scuttle before you dot another i, Bob Cratchit!"_

_**Reprise; a Christmas duet**_

_**chpt 1**_

It was ten o'clock in the morning at the offices of Scrooge and Marley, on the twenty-sixth of December, 1843. The two portly gentlemen came calling.

Scrooge came out and greeted them warmly, vigorously shaking the right hand of each. "Mr. Trade! Mr. Mark! A pleasure to see you, gentlemen! A pleasure!"

"Quite the contrary, sir," said Mr. Trade. "The pleasure is ours. We came in response to your gracious offer."

"And while the haste of our arrival has all the appearance of thieves ransacking a deserted home," said Mr. Mark, "We came not for fear that you would come to your senses and think better of your bequeathal, but because the need of the poor knows no season. Penury is most importunate in that regard."

"I understand, sirs, I understand. Starvation, nakedness, and homelessness will not wait for a more convenient occasion. We must do all we can to keep the wolf from the door, both ours and our fellow man's." Scrooge wrote out a check and handed it to Mr. Trade.

Mr. Trade stared at the check, "Bless my soul," he murmured. He showed the check to Mr. Mark.

"Upon my word," said Mr. Mark, his eyes wide.

"Is something amiss, gentlemen?" asked Scrooge innocently.

"This…amount…it's twice as much…" Mr. Trade swallowed. "…As what you indicated yesterday."

Scrooge smiled broadly. "Why, then, this only confirms that I've taken complete leave of my senses. You should depart at once before I regain my right mind."

"If this is a kind of madness, sir, would that the entire world should be so fevered," said Mr. Mark. "Many will have a more comfortable winter than otherwise might have."

"How shall I record this donation, Mr. Scrooge?" asked Mr. Trade. "In your name?"

"Or perhaps you wish to remain anonymous?" asked Mr. Mark, with a twinkle of mirth in his eye.

Scrooge's eye gave the twinkle in return. He was not offended. He could now appreciate a blithe untroubled attitude. "Record the donation in the name of Mr. Jacob Marley."

_This represents a double portion, Jacob. The portion you might have given, were you still alive. Some hold that offerings given in the name of the Departed will shorten their time in Purgatory. May you find your rest, my friend. May your spirit not be doomed to wander perpetually through the world. May you witness the good you might have done, and having witnessed it, be content._

Both Trade and Mark regarded Scrooge intently.

"Mr. Mark," said Mr. Trade, "I think we can safely say that Mr. Marley's liberality is well represented by his surviving partner."

"Do you know the story of Zacchaeus, Mr. Scrooge?" asked Mr. Mark. "From the Gospel according to St. Luke?"

Scrooge had hardly opened the Good Book in years beyond reckoning. But with the mention of the names, the old lessons came flooding back. "I do, Mr. Mark. He was the chief tax collector of Jericho. He wished to see Jesus, and he was short, and the crowd was too great. So he climbed a sycamore tree."

Mr. Mark took up the thread of the story. "And the Savior saw him and bade him come down, for He would abide as a guest in the man's house."

But the crowd murmured," said Scrooge with a sad self-knowing smile, "because Zacchaeus was a publican and a sinner."

"But Zacchaeus gave half his wealth to the poor", said Mr. Trade.

"And he vowed to restore fourfold what he had taken from any man dishonestly," continued Scrooge.

At his place in the Tank, Bob Cratchit was taken up with a sudden enthusiasm. "And Jesus said to the man, 'This day is salvation come to this house-!'…" He trailed off rather abashedly. "Oh, dear. How crass of me. I do beg your pardon, sirs."

Mr. Trade shook his head. "Not at all, sir, not at all. Well said. Pray, do continue. What were our Lord's concluding words?"

Bob leveled his gaze at his employer. "Jesus said, 'For the Son of Man is come to seek and to save that which was lost.' "

Mr. Mark nodded sagely. "Precisely."

The mood in the office was quiet, almost reverent. Scrooge felt subdued for a moment.

Both Trade and Mark shook Scrooge's hand earnestly. "God bless you, sir, most abundantly," said Mr. Mark.

"We shall be sure to call upon you next Christmas, Mr. Scrooge," said Mr. Trade.

"Piffle," said Scrooge. "Call upon me sooner, if need be."

"And so we shall," said Mr. Mark.

"Do this kindness, for me, gentlemen, if you would," requested Scrooge.

"Name it, sir. We are your humble servants," said Trade.

"Should you encounter any who are in dire need, such as would tax your resources, do not hesitate to direct them to my door."

"Most assuredly, Mr. Scrooge. Most assuredly."

After the departure of Messrs. Trade and Mark, Scrooge put on his coat and hat. "Bob, I'm off to the Exchange. But I'll be back before the close of the day. And then we'll have that smoking bishop, eh?" He winked conspiratorially and nudged his clerk.

"Yes, Mr. Scrooge," said Bob. "Be well, sir," he hastily added.

Scrooge looked up in surprise. In all the years of working for Scrooge and Marley, the clerk had never addressed his employer in so gracious a fashion.

And so at the end of the business day, Bob Cratchit and Ebenezer Scrooge were sharing a steaming bowl of smoking bishop at the local tavern, as the older man had promised. He ladled goodly portions into both their mugs.

It was a delicious heady beverage. Grapefruit, oranges, a heaping measure of sugar, two parts wine, and one part port.

Bob Cratchit reflected how merry he had made yesterday at Christmas. He was making very merry again today. He would try not to be too tipsy walking home. His wife would wonder rather impatiently where he had been. Oh, bless her heart, would he have a story for her!

Scrooge leaned over the table. He was scribbling rough figures on a sheet of paper.

As he watched, Bob was in an absolute dither. "Mr. Scrooge…such a princely sum…thirty shillings a week…I should hardly know how to manage such bounty."

Scrooge chuckled. "If your dear wife is at all like other women, I have no doubt she'll make good use of it. Clothing and furnishings, like as not. Though, I'll confess I hardly know the ways of the gentler sex."

"My missus has always been a fair hand with the household expenses."

"If you'll allow me, Bob, I'll invest a sum of money in your name. I have that faculty, you know…finding the most profitable venture. It's time I put it use for someone other than myself. And we must see to the health of your Tiny Tim. We'll find the best physician in London. If it's necessary, we'll look abroad."

"Oh, Mr. Scrooge…" Bob had to dab his eyes. "…I'm overwhelmed…" He nearly broke into tears. Plainly the punch was affecting him. While he blew his nose, Scrooge waited patiently. "…God bless you, sir…I hardly know how to express my…"

Ebenezer had to wipe his own eyes. He patted his clerk's shoulder. "Quite all right, old friend. There's a fellow. Think nothing of it."

And so, while each man took occasional swallows of their punch, and while Bob snuffled rather noisily, Scrooge continued his discourse and jotted his notes and numbers.

"Now…your daughter Martha is apprenticed at a milliner's, and your son Peter with an accountant. I believe, with the judicious application of assets, a certain amount might be set aside for each of them to embark on their own venture, should they wish it. Your daughter in her own shop, and your son with his own practice." He turned and winked. "And if the good Lord grants me sufficient length of years…and if you and your dear wife would permit me…I should consider it an honor to assist you in the placement of Belinda, Dora, Edward, and Tim in apprenticeships when each comes of age in their turn."

Ebenezer Scrooge had a sober thought in the back of his mind. If the shadows of the future remained unchanged, he would be dead by next Christmas. He had a year, then, to settle his affairs and see to the future of those for whom he had a newfound concern.

Bob Cratchit was stupefied. Two days ago, his employer had contemptuously brushed aside the man's own nephew and had railed at the poor of the world. Now the same man rattled off the names of the Cratchit children as though he knew them as well as he did his closest clients…as if they were his own. On a sudden impulse, he blurted out an invitation. "Would you dine with us tonight, Mr. Scrooge?"

Ebenezer's heart was warmed. But he had seen Kate Cratchit express her opinion of him during his visit to their home in the company of the Ghost of Christmas Present.

"_The Founder of the Feast indeed! I wish I had him here. I'd give him a piece of my mind to feast upon, and I hope he'd have a good appetite for it." _

He winced inwardly. "I'll let you break the news to your wife of your 'princely sum' before I impose on your hospitality."

Bob protested. "Sir, it would be no imposition at all."

"I'll take an adjournment, Bob. But mind you, I'll redeem your offer at a future date."

Scrooge chuckled. "I should apologize, by the way, for my little jest this morning…taking advantage of your late arrival, to momentarily allow you to think I might give you your notice."

Bob protested again. "Think nothing of it, sir. Why, just yesterday morn, my daughter played a capital joke on me. She hid herself in the back room while the other children pretended she wasn't there. They told me she couldn't come. And my dear wife conspired with them. 'Not coming!' said I, my heart falling. 'Not coming upon Christmas Day?' And then she appeared in the twinkling of an eye, to comfort her father's flagging spirit."

They had emptied the bowl of punch, draining it to the dregs. Both felt as warmed to their toes as though their feet were next to a cheery fireplace. It was time to go.

Bob endeavored a question. "If I might presume to inquire, sir…what prompted your…." He appeared ill at ease.

Scrooge had been on the very verge of telling the same anecdote Bob Cratchet had told him. He had seen it himself; the prank the Cratchet children had played on their father. But that would lead to the whole marvelous narrative. Should he confide? He smiled rather sadly. "…My sudden generosity? It's a wondrous tale, Bob. A veritable miracle. It spans the years and yet takes place with a single night. I'll let you strain your wife's credulity with the account of my overdue recognition of your talents before I strain **your **credulity with the account of my change of heart."

"Yes, sir."

As Scrooge paid the barkeep for the punch, he slipped the man a coin for the gratuity. And he slipped something into the pocket of Bob Cratchit's waistcoat. "There's something for your immediate expenses, Bob. To tide you over until next payday, should any need arise."

Bob started to reach his hand into the pocket, but Scrooge shook his head. "

Not yet, old friend. Wait until you are at home."

As they left the tavern, Bob tipped his hat, took Ebenezer's hand, and shook it vigorously. "Once more, sir, merry Christmas, and God bless you!"

Scrooge chuckled to himself as he watched Bob depart with a jaunty air. As he turned to make his own way home, he twirled his walking stick. He nearly clicked his heels. "Scrooge, you old wastrel" he mumbled to himself. You're a sailor on a spree. You've given away more today than you've spent in the last fifty years. So help me, if I live another year, I'll spend next Christmas as a pauper. And what of it? I've lived like a pauper anyway, for all my wealth." And he fairly danced his way to his home.

At the same moment, in a home nearby, a more somber mood held sway. Harold Clairton lay in his deathbed. He was attended by his wife Belle, their daughter Isabel, a physician, and a minister. Isabel's husband Thomas Bentley sat with their two children, Albert and Grace, in the outer room.

Belle and Isabel sat on either side of the bed. Each held a hand of the expiring man. His throat rattled hoarsely when he drew breath. Once in a while, his eyes flickered open and gazed at his wife and daughter.

"Oh, papa," whispered Isabel tearily.

"Oh, my love," murmured Belle.

Mr. Clairton rallied slightly. "My…dears…all…my love…" he rasped, expending heroic effort.

Belle lifted his hand and kissed his fingertips. "Do not tax yourself, my dearest. And do not fear for us. Our time apart will be brief. Hardly a measure of days until we are reunited for eternity."

The minister was at Belle's side. He knelt at the head of the bed, placed a gentle hand on the crown of Harold's head, and quietly prayed. "Almighty God, look on this your servant, lying in great weakness, and comfort him with the promise of life everlasting, given in the resurrection of your Son Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen."

Harold's eyes flickered open again. _Amen_, his lips intoned silently.

"Amen," said Belle, Isabel, and the physician in quiet unison.

"Go with God, old friend," said the minister with a sigh. He stood up and took his place at Belle's side.

The dying man drew a long breath. There was a final tremor, and he was still.

Frowning, the physician came to the bedside. He felt for a pulse. He held a small mirror to Mr. Clairton's nostrils. Both examinations yielded negative results. He looked up and shook his head. "He's gone, Belle."

Isabel cupped her hand over her mouth and stifled a sob.

Belle nodded. She leaned over the unmoving body and gently kissed the unmoving lips. "Godspeed, my darling," she whispered.

The physician folded the unmoving hands on the chest wherein lay a still heart. He drew the covers over the still face.

The minister crossed himself, and came and gave the sign of the cross to his departed friend. "Holy Trinity, one God, have mercy on Your servant. Depart, O Christian soul, out of this world; in the Name of God the Father Almighty Who created you; in the Name of Jesus Christ Who redeemed you; in the Name of the Holy Spirit Who sanctifies you. May your rest be this day in peace, and your dwelling place in the Paradise of God."

Isabel covered her face with her hands and wailed piteously. Belle took her daughter into her arms and wept quietly.

At hearing the sound of their mother's grief, the children sprang up and rushed through the bedroom door. They clutched at her skirts and broke into sobs.

Following his children and gazing sadly, Thomas Bentley shook the physician's hand and patted his shoulder. "Thank you, doctor," And likewise with the minister. "Thank you, Reverend."

The two men nodded sadly. "My work is done," muttered the doctor. "The way of all flesh."

"And my work continues," murmured the minister. "Binding up the broken-hearted."

_**to be continued**_


	2. Chapter 2

I include some notes on the title of the story. A reprise is the repetition of a passage of music in a song. A duet is a song sung or played by two. The Christmas Carol is being repeated; and it isn't a solo performance. So I guess the title is a plot spoiler.

Did I go overboard with Mrs. Cratchit's reaction to Scrooge's sudden moral transformation? Maybe. But it was fun.

Biblical references are included. I normally quote a more contemporary edition. But King James Version was pretty much it in Dickens' day.

I wanted to finish by Christmas. But hey…it's moi, the Glacially Slow Writer. This chpt was half done until the 1st Monday of 2011. And the ideas flowed

. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, my brothers and sisters in the Body of Christ and the Family of Man.

_**REPRISE; A CHRISTMAS DUET**_

_**chpt 2**_

Over the next few months, Ebenezer Scrooge took all his clients aside. Those who owed the firm money were given extensions and manageable interest rates. To the destitute, he forgave the loans entirely.

He took pains not to advertise his new largesse. After all, did not the Holy Writ say, in the Gospel according to Matthew, the sixth chapter, and first through third verses:

Take heed that ye do not your alms before men, to be seen of them: otherwise ye have no reward of your Father which is in heaven. Therefore when thou doest thine alms, do not sound a trumpet before thee, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets, that they may have glory of men. Verily I say unto you, They have their reward. But when thou doest alms, let not thy left hand know what thy right hand doeth.

But the word managed to spread. And his business increased.

In the spring, he made Bob Cratchit a full partner. The poor man was dumbstruck. Scrooge downplayed it. "It's merely good business, Bob. Jacob Marley was younger than I am now when death took him. You know the operations of this enterprise as well as I do." In his heart, he still thought he might die by next Christmas, as he had seen in the vision shown to him by the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come.

Just a few months previous, when her husband had come home on the day after Christmas as full of merriment as the day before, Kate Cratchit wondered what the cause. When he related the story of his employer's new liberality, she was skeptical. And blunt. "It's a ploy! He means to trick you, Robert Cratchit! By this time next week, he'll dismiss you for a mistake in your figures! That mean-spirited old skinflint! Miserable old pinchpenny! And we'll all be homeless on a street corner!"

And when Bob mentioned Scrooge's wish to see to the wellbeing of the children, she became alarmed. In vain he strove to reassure her, trying to allay her fears and relate his own initial doubts.

"Our children? Our dear ones? He's gone dotty, Bob!" she raved. "He's bonkers! Mad as a hatter! Lord help us, it's punishment for his stinginess! He needs to be reported! He needs to be locked away so he doesn't do you harm! As God is my witness, he'll be in Bedlam before another month is out!"

But when Bob took out of his pocket what Scrooge had stuck in, the good woman become overwrought.

He unrolled it. The entire family stared.

"Bob Cratchit…is that a…"

"Yes, my love…it's a…"

It was a five pound note. Whether at Bob's old wages of fifteen shillings a week or his new wages of thirty, it represented a sizeable sum; a hundred shilling sum.

Kate had nearly fainted. She sat in the chair and fanned herself with her apron. "Oh, my stars! Oh, Merciful Heavens! It's too much!" At last, she lay her head down on the folded arms on the table and wept. "God have mercy, I've wronged him! He's a prince! He's an angel!"

Peter nervously asked his father if he should go to the neighbors and fetch smelling salts.

Bob shook his head. There would be no need. Good news was it's own restorative.

In a moment, Kate recovered and raised her head. She blinked, and gathered her thoughts. "Bob! Children! We must invite him to supper! We must show a proper appreciation!"

At Scrooge's friendly but firm insistence, Bob had provided a complete recounting of the tale. As Kate Cratchit had done, Scrooge had to take his seat. He roared with laughter. He wept with merriment.

Bob couldn't help it. He joined in. The offices rang with hilarity. Passerby heard the row and fetched a policeman.

The patrolman knocked on the door. A voice breathless with laughter called loudly to come in. He tentatively opened the door and peered in. "Beg your pardon, sirs, is everything all right?"

The two men were doubled over in mirth.

"Yes, officer…we're…we're…" gasped Scrooge, struggling to answer. He looked over at his man. "Oh, dear…how are we, Bob?"

For the first time in his life, Bob Cratchit ventured a joke with his employer. "Mr. Scrooge, sir…I fear we're…we're quite dotty! Ruddy out of our minds! The both of us!"

The jollity was rekindled. It was redoubled. They clutched their bellies and contorted their faces with rollicking laughter

The policeman stared with both wonder and some amusement himself. This was the infamous humorless Ebenezer Scrooge. Rumors had abounded how he had strolled up and down the street just the day before randomly wishing passerby merry Christmas. He began to chuckle.

Ebenezer finally waved a hand. "We're…we're fine…officer…thank you for your concern. Bless you and merry Christmas."

The officer grinned. He tipped his hat. "Thank you, sirs. And merry Christmas to yourselves. And a happy New Year." Yes, there was no trouble here. He closed the door behind him. "Quite alright," he said, reassuring the gathering of concerned townsfolk. "Merely a slight excess of the spirit of the season."

As the crowd dispersed, he said to himself, "God grant that we all partake of such excess."

In another five minutes, Scrooge was still chuckling. His face was still flushed. He wiped his brow, blew his nose, and clapped Bob on the shoulder. "Oh, my dear Bob! A remarkable woman! An extraordinary creature! A credit to her sex! As formidable a lady as our monarch! God save the queen of the Cratchit kingdom! Tell your dear spouse I hasten to fulfill my obligations at her earliest convenience."

Bob conferred with his wife that night. She had already laid her plans. She had been reluctant to spend any of the five pounds. To even give the note to a merchant to make change seemed like a sacrilege; like squandering a treasure. But she took a portion of it and stocked their larder, gathering provisions for the reprise of the Christmas feast.

It was one day later that Ebenezer Scrooge was the dinner guest of Bob and Kate Cratchit and family. It was hard to tell who was more nervous. The host family or the guest.

Preparations for the meal were as feverish as for the Christmas feast. Peter stirred the boiling potatoes. Edward minded the turkey. Belinda and Dora helped their mother baking the bread, and cutting and cooking the vegetables.

Tiny Tim had set all the dishes and utensils. Then he returned to his fireside stool, prompting and encouraging them all. "Ed, do turn the spit more slowly. The bird is browning wonderfully. Mother, the bread smells delicious. Belinda, Dora, carefully; don't cut yourselves. Peter, are the potatoes thoroughly cooked? Oh, it will be so delightful having Mr. Scrooge visit!"

"Tim, my dear, would you sing us a song?" asked Kate. "A song of the season?"

He thought a moment. His face brightened, and he began singing. It was a male soprano voice, as clear and bright as a bell. "Deck the halls with boughs of holly…"

His mother and siblings joined in the chorus. "Fa la la la la, la la la la."

" 'Tis the season to be jolly,"

"Fa la la la la, la la la la."

"Don we now our gay apparel,"

"Fa la la, la la la, la la la."

"Troll the ancient Yule tide carol,"

"Fa la la la la, la la la la."

They applauded, and Tim bowed merrily. The flour on the girls' hands sent up a cloud of powder that made them sneeze, to the merriment of all.

"Another, dear brother!" begged Dora.

Tim chose a slower, more sacred song. "God rest ye merry, gentlemen / Let nothing you dismay / Remember, Christ, our Savior / Was born on Christmas day / To save us all from Satan's power / When we were gone astray…"

The family again accompanied in he chorus. "O tidings of comfort and joy, / Comfort and joy / O tidings of comfort and joy!"

"The potatoes are ready," said Peter. And he drained them and they all set to work peeling them, except Tim, at his spot by the fire.

Ebenezer accompanied Bob home to Camden Town from the office. "Alas, Mr. Scrooge, my dear Martha, my eldest, was unable to take time away from her situation."

But when Bob opened the door to his home, he was shocked to see…

"…Martha!"

His eldest daughter smiled shyly. "Hello, father."

Bob glanced from his daughter to his wife. "How…when…?"

Kate took her husband's hand and drew him close. "I hired a coach to deliver our daughter home for an evening," she told him quietly. "We'll hire another coach to take her back late tonight or early tomorrow."

Bob was appalled. This was an almost unconscionable waste of the treasure conferred on them by Mr. Scrooge. But the look on his daughter's face persuaded him otherwise. How could he deny one of his own a chance to share in this celebration of their change of fortune?

Kate Cratchit and Ebenezer Scrooge caught each other's eye. There was no profound nonverbal communication; merely the shared awareness that a wealth lavished on another was not a squandering; it was a kindness.

Kate and the children were lined up, facing Ebenezer. Bob stood between his wife's and employer's side. He faced his employer and gestured toward his family. "Mr. Scrooge, this is my dear missus, Kate Cratchit, and our children…Martha, Belinda, Peter, Dora, Edward, and Timothy." Then he faced his family and gestured toward his employer. "My dears, may I present our guest of honor, Mr. Ebenezer Scrooge."

They had all seen him from afar in the street, with his icy face and appearance, his very hat and frock looking severe. Afar was how they preferred it. But now this Bogeyman, this Ogre of the Cratchit household, whom the children all dreaded and whom their mother despised from afar, who ruled their father like a despot, who held all their fortunes at his caprice, appeared to them as a quiet man, with gentle eyes and kindly smile. He behaved hesitantly, as though unsure of the welcome he would receive.

It was just a moment of uncertainty. Kate, her husband's great helpmeet and advocate, and Ebenezer's fiercest skeptic, broke the deadlock by taking her guest's hand.

This family whom Scrooge only days before would have dismissed as the "poor and destitute"…the "surplus population"…they appeared as decorous and genteel as nobility. They displayed a simple but stately dignity.

The boys all shook his hand solemnly. Scrooge had to fight mightily the urge to chuckle aloud out of a sense of endearment. God forbid he should shatter the serious mood by seeming to be flippant.

The girls all curtseyed prettily. With a bittersweet pang and a silent sigh, Scrooge thought upon Constance, the wife of his nephew Fred. And upon his dear departed sister Fannie, Fred's mother. And upon his own mother, whom he never knew, who died giving him birth, And most of all, he thought upon Belle, his lost love.

But it was little Tim Cratchit, his game leg bound in an iron frame, limping upon his crutch, who tipped the scale of Scrooge's deportment.

He seemed even frailer than before. But he hobbled toward his father's employer as though the guest in their house was Father Christmas burdened with gifts. It was an indomitable spirit and a buoyant heart, that blazed like a bonfire.

Ebenezer was awestruck. The face of Timothy Cratchit was the face of the Ghost of Christmas Past. It glowed with a beatific light. It was the face of all whom Scrooge had ever loved. It was the Face of the Christmas Babe in the Manger.

"Uncle Ebenezer!" bubbled the boy, and hugged the man excitedly.

Bob, Kate, and the older Cratchit children were aghast. The is was an unforgivable breach of propriety and good manners.

But Ebenezer Scrooge only stared in rapt wonder. He had always been addressed in the formal manner, "Mr. Ebenezer Scrooge". Even his nephew Fred had always called him "Uncle Scrooge". From the time of his mother's death, no one but Fannie and Belle had called him by his given name or held him in their arms.

His reserve broke. He dropped to one knee and gathered Timothy Cratchit into his arms. His nephew Fred was the closest Scrooge would ever have to a son of his bloodline. But the arms which had never cradled an infant, or bounced a toddler…the arms which had not taken another living human into a compassionate embrace since Belle Gray…the arms of Ebenezer Scrooge seized tiny Tim into a gentle but fierce clasp. It was an embrace of desperate yearning, and a hunger of the heart long denied "Oh, my boy…my dear boy…"

No further words could he utter. They caught in his throat. In his heart he made both a fervent resolve and an impassioned plea. _If I was spared for any reason at all, it was to see this boy healed. O Lord, let me not have lived in vain…I beseech Thee, Monarch of Heaven…whether by my own poor efforts or by Thine own ineffable sovereign means….raise this lad up._

And Scrooge wept like a baby.

_**to be continued**_


	3. Chapter 3 the Ghost of Christmas Past

What prompted this? Dunno. Haven't the foggiest. My hands were on the keyboard and my eyes were on the monitor. Strange thing was, I was blogging about the Wizard of Oz at my Xanga site when this topic came to mind. And it's halfway into Lent of 2011. Christmas is months away.

My brothers and sisters in the Body of Christ and the Family of Man...when our hour of visitation comes, let's not turn a deaf ear. When regret and guilt pierce our hearts, it's for a purpose. The Father in Heaven is vying for our attention. If we choose to, we can ignore Him.

Ah, phooey. I'm trying to sound all dignified. Y'all know I'm a Bible Thumper. "Repent and be saved!" There. I said it. And if you are saved, keep your accounts short. Our feet will always wander. "Who, Me?" Yeah, you. Me. Us. Don't kid a kidder. We all love to stray.

:D

Be well, my friends.

**Reflections Of The Ghost Of Christmas Past**

The Father Of Spirits, from Whom every family in Heaven and on Earth derives its name, prevailed upon me to visit a should in dire need of redemption. And glad I was to do so. There is more joy in the Kingdoms both eternal and temporal over one sinner who repents than a hundred righteous who think they have no need for humility.

But this fellow was a hard one. A businessman, a warehouseman, by profession. A miser by vocation. Especially pitiless, he was.

I performed my ordained function, as always. He was excited as a lad in a toy shop to savor again the simple joys of his youth. I showed him not only the beloved places of his youth, but the beloved faces also. As they always do, he asked if they could see us. And I explained that these are but the shadows of things that were.

I've seen men descend to Hell firm in their impiety, regretting not whit the crimes they committed that secured them their fortunes, fame, and influence. I've seen men accept with calm resignation the gradual loss of strength of limb and keenness of eye by reason of age or illness. I've seen men endure suffering of body and mind.

But what breaks a man's soul like a brittle teacup cracked with age…what drove Scrooge to utter despair…was to show him the moment he thrust from himself, with both hands, the companionship that might have lighted his way on life's journey. I compounded it by allowing him to behold the joy, experienced by another, that might have been his.

He wailed in torment. "Spirit! Show me no more! Conduct me home. Why do you delight to torture me? No more! No more. I don't wish to see it. Show me no more!"

Out of the pity I felt for his immortal soul, I showed him no pity. I showed him the children of his former Beloved and another…unto the second and third generation. He saw her face within their faces. He heard her name spoken lovingly by another's lips. He saw delight in her eyes for another, and another's delight for her.

In my poor visage he saw all whom he had loved and lost. It was then he snuffed me out, smothering me like a defenseless witness to a crime. Even so do men murder their consciences and flee to what they call the safety of eternal death.

The Face of the Holy Babe, it is said, mirrors the faces of all the Children of Adam and Eve. I cannot say. Only mortals are granted the privilege of the Beatific Vision Incarnate. We poor Spirits veil our faces at the wondrous Sight.

Mine was only a disabling wound. My worthy heavenly brethren, the Spirits of Christmas that Are and Are Yet To Come, dealt his pride the death blow. They reminded him of his mortality.

Did the poor man's heart turn? Yes. Was I there to see it? No. I only received word. I must wait for another Time and Place before I see my reluctant patient again.

How I long for the Day when the Most Holy One renews all things, and such sadness as I must compel the mortals to confront is expunged from the universe.


End file.
